


One Night in Odessa

by Lauralot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, HYDRA Husbands, HYDRA Trash Party, Humor, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, drunk marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2353670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumlow and Rollins have too much to drink on a mission and the Winter Soldier is sworn to secrecy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night in Odessa

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=514379#cmt514379) on the HYDRA trash meme: _I need more Rumlow/Rollins in my life so yeah... as long as there's some Rumlow x Rollins I'll be super grateful thanks._
> 
> Specifically, this fill was inspired by [a comment](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=521291#cmt521291) below that prompt.

Rumlow doesn’t have time to regret opening his eyes before a wave of confetti is raining down on him. He’s spooned up against Rollins, ass bare and freezing, head throbbing like a mouthful of infected teeth. And the Winter Soldier’s off-key singing isn’t helping in the least.

Wait, the Winter Soldier’s singing?

“— _for he’s a jolly good fell-ell-oooooow, which nobody can de_ —”

“You little shit,” Rumlow grunts, swinging his arm out to strike the asset. He only succeeds in nailing Rollins in the face. Oops. _Sorry, Jack._ “The fuck are you _doing_?”

The Soldier is standing on the mattress, mercifully blocking out most of the overhead light. He’s wearing his holsters but the only clothing on him is a shirt that belongs to Rollins, hanging off his frame like a nightgown. His hair is in pigtails. God, how fucked up did they get last night?

“Agent Rumlow ordered me to greet you as such when you woke,” the Soldier says. Beside Rumlow, Rollins is shifting on the mattress, cursing and clutching at his head.

“The hell I did,” Rumlow snaps. There’s lipstick smeared all around the Soldier’s mouth. Rumlow’s not in the mood for this and he pledges to never, never partake in Ukrainian liquor ever again.

The Soldier shakes his head, points to Rollins. “Not you, sir. Agent Rumlow.”

He’s about to ask what the Soldier’s malfunction is when he spots it: a gold band on Rollins’s left ring finger. There’s a matching one on his own hand. He doesn’t have to look down to see it; he can feel it, too tight and squeezing against his skin. Oh. Oh no.

Rollins is shaking with laughter and this time Rumlow hits him on purpose. “Not fucking funny.”

“That’s no way to treat your husband,” Rollins says. His words are broken up by giggles and Rumlow grits his teeth. It _isn’t_ funny. The team’s never going to respect them again and when Pierce gets wind of this…

“I was the ring bearer,” the Soldier says, like anyone asked. His face is flushed, probably because this hole in the wall hotel room is cold as balls. Or maybe, by some unholy hell miracle, they actually got him drunk the night prior.

Rumlow can only groan. There’s a deep purple hickey on Rollins’s throat and he can remember making it last night, before he drank himself into a blackout. He remembers they’d moved away from the others in the bar. There’s a flicker of hope: maybe they were away from the team, maybe no one else saw.

“Soldier.” His voice is loud and his head aches again. “Who else saw—who else was there for the—the—”

“Ceremony?” Rollins offers, earning a third smack.

“Only one witness was required,” the Soldier says. “You said, quote, ‘this intimate shit ain’t for their eyes, bunch of perverts with no sense of romance. You’re the only one who understands, Winnie, you’re always there for—’”

“Yeah, yeah, _shut up_ ,” Rumlow orders, though his words are drowned out by Rollins, who is now cackling. He shakes his head, trying to prod his aching brain back into functioning. Gay marriage, last he checked, isn’t legal in the Ukraine. This isn’t binding, no one else saw, and the asset won’t remember; things are salvageable. “Listen, you’re never to bring this up again, got it? And Rollins is gonna go by his maiden name—don’t call him Rumlow.”

“Isn’t that _my_ decision?” Rollins asks.

“Shut up, you prick.”

“Why are you still here?” Rollins turns his focus to the Soldier. He’s still smirking. Rumlow would slap him again if his smile weren’t so damn endearing.

Fine, maybe the whole thing’s a little funny.

“You said it was the ring bearer’s responsibility to aid in the consummation when one groom was too inebriated to maintain arousal.”

It’s Rumlow who howls at that. He can suddenly remember the Soldier’s lips around his cock while Rollins had guided the man’s head. Now the pigtails make sense.

He’ll concede that there are worse ways to wake up. The mission was a success and if Rollins even thinks to open his mouth about this to anyone, Rumlow can just threaten to spill about the subway incident from the mission in Kyoto. Still. He prides himself on having better control than this and it’s more than a little humiliating. He needs to hit something. “Hey, Soldier. You know it’s also the ring bearer’s responsibility to take a beating the morning after, right?”

There’s a little flash in the Soldier’s eyes. He’s probably just trying to remember if they had told him that last night, but Rumlow pretends it’s fear.

Rollins grabs Rumlow’s wrist before he can sit up. “Whoa. That’s _after_ the lazy honeymoon handjobs, honey. How could you forget?”

Oh yeah, there are definitely worse ways to wake up.


End file.
